weather forecasting

I saw a feather
in the sky
a quill of sorts

trailing the word

storm

the wind was high
the clouds came in
much lower

grey grew wide
lightning
illuminated each letter

and the rain
washed the word
away

~

I saw a plume
annotating one section
of sky

the line it penned
in a stream
of white

sun

the blue
held the word
in a sweet formation

frayed slowly
by the zephyr breeze

tailed away

~

I saw the impression
of fading cirrus
tufts
and waves

a sky tide
disappearing remnants
of a declaration

burn

the sun
beat down

the sky
all wriggling lines
of an illusion

that there may be
water



© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #10: old birds refrained

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